It was 20 years ago today that I got the worst news of my young life. My best friend, Michaeleen had been killed in a car accident. This is what I posted last year on her birthday, but I would like to re-print it today.

But first, since some of you already read that entry, I share with you another of the many notes written to me by Michaeleen. This particular note was written on a brown paper lunch bag. (Be warned, there is an RIP reference in it, but don’t let that throw you, we refer to our own deaths several times a day in an offhand way, so just let it be.)

To whom it may concern,

This paper bag is a cry for help to please get me out of this extremely BORING class. Unfortunately I don’t have a bottle to put this S.O.S. in (slight musical reference).

If you wish you may place anything you wish (preferably not a Wayne Gretzky doll) [in this bag]. I wouldn’t mind if you put Sting in here but it could be a bit cramped.

If you are reading this bag then you must have survived your P.E. dancercise. Well to you I say congrats because you shall be adorning me with a R.I.P sign by [turn bag over] tomorrow.

Wait, just got a note. Sally forgot our tape. Strike one up for amnesia (spelling?). I swear my spelling is becoming atrocious (not bad). I’ll have to read a dictionary for silent reading. Ha wouldn’t I look intellectual!

Well this has been my meager little note and if you don’t choose to read it look on the bright side, you could always use it for a hand puppet and call him Harry.

From Muck

And now, the entry from last year:

April 10th is my good friend Michaeleen’s birthday. She was killed in a car accident almost 20 years ago, but I still miss her. We became friends in Grade 3, and remained good friends up until her death at the way too young age of 21 (2 months shy of turning 22).

Interestingly enough, in my dreams, she hasn’t remained the age she was when she died. She got older, married, and the last time I dreamed about her she had been working as a writer for the CBC. I know that’s a little weird, but I have found it comforting throughout the years.

If she had lived, I’m sure she would have been a writer of some renown by now. She had just had her first published piece in her college writing collection and she was planning to do more classes in creative writing. When we were in high school we were in different classes and often would spend a boring class writing a note to the other, which we would then exchange in the hallways as we changed classes. It was entertaining and a great way to prevent oneself from falling asleep in history class. I kept all her notes to me because, well I’m sentimental that way, and her writing even at the tender age of 16 was so good. And here I share with you one of her masterpieces (I want you to remember back to high school when one had to use blue pen (not black) in English and pencil (not pen) in Math. Ah, the years of petty rules.

To Cluck [ed note: my nickname was Cluck, hers was Muck, as in MuckCluck, get it?]

This is a terrorist threat. If you don’t hand over $1,000,000 you will be sorry. Put the money in an unmarked lunch bag and place it in Rm 21 on the third desk in the row closest to the window. (I realize you must be tired after that sentence, but do it anyway.) If the money isn’t in my possession by lunch time tomorrow life will become very difficult for you. Your Snap album will mysteriously disappear. Your ghetto blaster will be set in front of a herd of raging elephants. And you might as well say good-bye to FRED [ed note: Fred was my large stuffed duck which was something of an ongoing inside joke]. Even I’m too squeamish to tell you what will happen to him. THIS IS NOT A JOKE. These directions had better be followed OR ELSE.

Love always,

The Mafia

Life is tough eh Cluck? [ed note: you know we’re Canadian right?] Oh well, don’t worry. You have to logically list your problems and then solve them. What could possibly be wrong with your life beside Xavier [Ed note, boy I had a crush on, not his real name], school, and a terrorist threat. Look, see it’s not so bad.

Instant and automatic change to pen to make your world a little more blue. Not blue in the sense of feeling but blue in the sense of colour. Since everything in this school is blue [ed note: Catholic girls’ school with Navy Blue uniforms] the pen might as well be too.

WAIT A REBELLION. I DARE TO WRITE IN RED. WHAT COURAGE, WHAT VALOR, A REBEL WITH A CAUSE. I LOVE IT.

Well back to the same, old, boring blue pen. A b rebellion can only last for so long.

BUT EVERY SO OFTEN THAT TINY REBEL WILL EMERGE AND FIGHT AGAINST THE STEREOTYPENESS OF SOCIETY.

Well, must go. The bell.

Love Muck,

AND HER TINY REBEL

See what I mean? That was written with only one scratch out–she had started to spell rebellion with a b.

I love the idea of the Red Pen Rebel. On the surface so nice and polite, acquiescent and compliant. And then very quietly doing your own thing anyway. ‘Cause sometimes the rules are stupid.

So, here’s to you my Red Pen Rebel. I miss you.

And in honour of the Red Pen Rebel spirit, today, I will NOT sign the kids’ planners. Ha ha! Wow! That’s surprisingly very freeing.

How will you honour the Red Pen Rebel spirit today? What stupid rules will you break?

WELCOME TO MY PRECARIOUSLY BALANCED UNIVERSE…

...in which I ask important questions like "If I'm the centre of the universe, why don't I get my way more often?" and "What if the laws of the universe are merely suggestions?" and of course the key questions, "Have you subscribed? How will I know you like me if you don't?"